


Simplify

by emptydistractions



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Canon Compliant, Captain America: The First Avenger, M/M, Missing Scene, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Star Spangled Secret Santa (Marvel), World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:41:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28538256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emptydistractions/pseuds/emptydistractions
Summary: It's Christmas Eve and all Steve can focus on is what tomorrow brings. The next chase, the next mission, the next fight. He's running on empty, and he's dragging his team down with him in the process.Lucky for them all then, that Bucky knows how to set Steve straight.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 4
Kudos: 74
Collections: Star Spangled Secret Santa 2020





	Simplify

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alby_mangroves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alby_mangroves/gifts).



> A gift for alby_mangroves for the 2020 Star Spangled Secret Santa. Written while sick with covid, so please excuse .... all of it >.<

Remarkably, the little French village had remained untouched amid the desolation of the war-torn landscape that surrounded it. Tucked up high in the Vosges near the German border and buried under several feet of fresh snow, it looked like something out of a picture book. The buildings that made up the town center looked old, but sturdy, and lights burned brightly in the frost-covered windows. It was almost impossible to believe that something like it still existed, so beautiful and pristine, when all they’d seen for months now had been touched by the war.

It wasn’t surprising then that the locals were less than welcoming, watching their ragtag group of commandos with suspicion. In the end, it was Dernier’s smooth-talking that got them rooms above the local pub for the night. For Steve, who’d been preparing himself for another night spent outside in the freezing cold, it was practically a Christmas miracle.

The room turned out to be little more than a bed and a desk; basic but clean. Dernier had even managed to negotiate them each a room of their own, a fact that was met with cheers all around. But the accommodations hardly mattered to Steve. He was exhausted, worn down by responsibility. The harsh winter had sapped him of some of his strength and most of his optimism. He was running on empty, they all were, but for him at least, the night was hardly over.

Wearily, he spread his maps, the paper water-stained and wrinkled, over the wooden desk, settling in for another few hours of work. Phillips had left him the freedom to do as he saw fit in the search for Schmidt. At first it had been good; his history of following orders had been spotty at best, and they’ve gotten farther on his intuition than he ever would have dreamed. But in its own way, the lack of direction to follow was suffocating. The team lived or died by Steve’s word alone, and some days the burden grew heavier than he thought he was built to bear. And lately, it felt like they’d been going in circles, breaking their backs for what felt like nothing.

He was deep in concentration when there was a knock at the door. It’s quiet at first. Steve was still tired, a headache starting to form behind his eyes and hour’s worth of work still to do. If he ignored it, maybe they’d go away.

The knocking came again, this time hard and insistent. Steve sighed, tracing another line with his pencil and scribbling a quick note down next to it. 

“Come in,” Steve called out, finally putting down his pencil reluctantly. He took a deep breath, scrubbing his hands over his dry eyes and through his hair. Hopefully this would be over with quickly. He wanted to finish his work sometime before midnight. If he was lucky maybe he’d even be able to find some decent food to scarf down before washing up for bed. 

The door hinge creaked as it swung open to reveal the person on the other side. Bucky. Steve managed to hide his surprise at the last minute, but only just. Ever since Austria and the Hydra prison camp, Bucky had been doing his best to ignore Steve completely. It wasn’t easy, in a group of so few, but somehow he’d managed. He volunteered for every late night watch, went on every patrol. Anything to keep him busy and far away from Steve. In fact, the one time that Steve had approached him, he’d been rebuffed so thoroughly that it was clear that whatever small, tentative thing they’d had back in Brooklyn had been nothing more than a flight of fancy. One that Bucky clearly had no interest in continuing.

The realization had hurt more than Steve had expected, and in ways that he didn’t want to think about. It wasn’t that he’d expected Bucky to fall back into his arms. But to be outright ignored and avoided? That, he hadn’t been prepared for. All he could do to avoid thinking about it was to bury himself in his work and luckily, distraction was in no small supply these days. It was easy to spend his nights huddled over stacks of papers, lost in strategy and planning. 

Bucky stood awkwardly in the doorway, one hand resting on the doorframe, the light from the hall casting his face into shadow. He seemed tense. Hesitant, unsure, in a way that he never had been in Brooklyn, at least not around Steve. Another fact that hurt when Steve spent too much time thinking about it.

“Everything alright?” Steve asked, careful to keep his voice measured and neutral. 

Bucky blinked, as if surprised by Steve’s question. “Everyone’s downstairs drinking,” he said finally. “They’re all wondering where you are.” The corner of his mouth twisted up in a small smile. “Morita’s already three sheets to the wind and buying all the rounds. Can’t miss out on that.”

Steve steadfastly ignored the little part of him that was disappointed that Bucky had only come to talk to him about the rest of the commandos. “Thank you,” he said, and his tone came out more stiffly than he’d intended. In the doorway, Bucky stiffened. “But I’ve got work to do.”

Apparently not hearing (or caring about) the dismissal in Steve’s words, Bucky wandered slowly into the room, letting the door close softly behind him. His worn-out boots hardly made a sound on the rough wooden floor. When he reached the desk, he looked down, eyes tracing over the maps, studying the hand-drawn routes and markers, the margins crammed full of Steve’s scrawling script. A frown crossed his face as he gazed at the papers.

Carefully, Bucky reached out and tapped one of the maps, right on top of the area that Steve had been looking at when he’d come in. “Is this the next stop then?”

Steve nodded. “Heard a rumor in the last camp we passed through.” He pulled the map closer, eyes fixed on the forested area opposite their current position. It was always a measured risk, trusting the rumors that they heard from other soldiers, but this one had seemed more legitimate than most. Reports of a man with a skull for a face and weapons of blue light that vaporized men in a second. “I thought tomorrow we’d head that way-“

“Tomorrow?”

Steve looked up. Bucky was fixing him with a look that seemed caught somewhere in between disappointment and annoyance, though why he’d feel either way, Steve didn’t have the faintest idea. As it was, Steve wasn’t sure what to say, so he simply went with, “Yes.”

Bucky inhaled slowly before speaking. He looked like he was trying to control his words, the muscles in his jaw moving as he gritted his teeth. “They’re tired, Steve.” He glanced to the side, refusing to meet Steve’s eyes. “Tomorrow is Christmas. Give them that, at least.”

Steve sat in sudden, stunned silence. In his desire to see things through, to find Schmidt and destroy Hydra, he’d almost forgotten. He supposed it shouldn’t come as a surprise. Christmas had never been much of a holiday for him growing up. His Ma had worked straight through the holidays, and when Steve was old enough, he’d joined her. The one or two years when that hadn’t been the case, he’d been sick instead, struggling to breathe. Bucky had been slightly better off. His father had worked but his mother had been at home with him and his siblings, though like Steve and his mother, money had been more than tight.

Even as he spoke, Steve already hated his answer, hated having to disappoint Bucky yet again. “Schmidt won’t stop for Christmas. Neither can we.”

Bucky’s mouth was a thin line, annoyance written in his features. He shifted his weight, tension in his shoulders as he spoke. “Since when has Hydra become the bar we measure ourselves by?”

“It’s not,” Steve answered quickly, the defensiveness in his tone surprising even himself. 

“Then why are you pushing them so hard, Steve? Your men are exhausted. They need a break, even if it’s only a day.”

“It’s not enough!” Steve startled both of them when his hand slapped down on the desk. He didn’t miss the way that Bucky stepped back, putting space between himself and Steve’s sudden anger. Every inch between them felt like an insurmountable mile, a distance that had been growing larger every day since Austria. “Everything we’ve done, and still it’s not enough. We’re no closer to him than we were when we started this.” He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. “It’s not done until we find him and stop him, and Hydra with him.”

Bucky nodded, his posture stiff and tense. His expression was cold, closed off. “I know that. We all know that. We know how important this is, but that doesn’t change the face that we’re human. You have the serum, Steve, but we don’t.” He paused, looking like he was choosing his words carefully. “We can’t always keep up.”

Steve started to argue, but when he opened his mouth the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he felt guilt start to spread through him, pooling painfully in his stomach as he sat in stony silence. Of course they were tired. Steve had been driving them all relentlessly across the country side in pursuit of Schmidt. But how quickly he’d forgotten what it was like; to not just be tired but to be weary down to his bones, to wake up each day more exhausted than the last. He exhaled slowly, carefully, before nodding.

It was clear from Bucky’s face that he understood what Steve was saying. “Thank you, Steve.”

“You can tell them,” Steve said. He resisted the urge to rub at his eyes again. The maps were still sitting on the desk, but all he wanted to do now was lie down, close his eyes, and forget about the rest of the world, if only for a little while. 

“I will,” Bucky said.

But he didn’t leave. Steve had expected him to go immediately, to rejoin the rest of the commandos downstairs. Instead, Bucky lingered, looking as unsure and uncertain as he had when he’d first entered the room. As he stood there, the scant light in the room highlighted the curve of his jaw, sharper than Steve remembered, and the unfamiliar gauntness of his cheekbones. He was skinny now. They’d all lost weight, living off meager rations and trekking cross-country daily, but in Bucky it was more pronounced. He was pale as well. Back home, Bucky had been the first to tan in the summer and the last to lose it come winter, but now his face was white, the shadows under his eyes like dark bruises.

Another thing that Steve had missed.

He wanted to wrap Bucky in his arms, to feel him solid and warm and alive, but he couldn’t. It wasn’t what Bucky wanted anymore, and Steve wasn’t going to force it on him. He forced himself to hold still, his muscles tense as he waited for… something. Not even he was sure what it was. 

They stayed that way for a long moment. From where Steve sat, Bucky seemed to suddenly tower over him. The silence in the room was palpable; a living, breathing, ugly thing that neither of them dared to challenge.

“Got something for you.”

It was Bucky who broke it first, and Steve felt his own shoulders sag with relief. He watched in surprise as Bucky dug into his pockets, first in one and then the other as he searched for something. When he’d found it, he took a seat on the end of the bed, before motioning for Steve to join him.

He only hesitated for a second before joining Bucky. The bed sank heavily under their combined weight, the wooden frame creaking its protest. It was, Steve realized with a start, the closest they’d been in months. He could feel the warmth of Bucky’s skin and smell the faint scent of gunpowder and cigarette smoke that seemed to cling eternally to all of them these days. He resisted the urge to move closer.

“Got it in a letter last time we passed through camp. Been holding onto it nearly a month now, but Becca wanted to make sure you got it for Christmas, so I waited.”

Curious, Steve took the item from Bucky’s hands. It was a piece of paper, folded over on itself so many times it was only the size of a half-dollar. He unfolded it carefully, laying the paper flat on his knee and smoothing out the creases. He could feel the weight of Bucky’s gaze on him as he looked down at the paper, inhaling sharply when he finally saw what it was. Steve’s eyes felt suddenly hot and wet at the corners, his throat tight with emotion.

“She’s getting better,” he said thickly.

On the paper was a rough sketch of their old neighborhood. Becca had drawn it from the view of the Barnes’ front porch, using broad pencil strokes to capture the cracked pavement and surrounding buildings. Most of the portrait was in grey, but she’d added splashes of color here and there; green leaves in the trees that lined the road, yellow in the shutters of the building opposite. She’d even included a figure in the distance, tall and thin, though who it was supposed to be was a mystery to him.

“Oh, don’t go telling her that,” Bucky said with a short, sharp laugh. “You do, and by the time we get home, her head’ll be too big to fit indoors.”

Steve laughed, and the sound was almost foreign to him. How long had it been since he’d last done that? More time than he could count, and even more besides that since he’d laughed along with Bucky. He looked down again at the drawing, mesmerized by the scratchy depiction of his old life. He missed it like a lost limb. The serum had given him so much; strength and size and health. He was only just now starting to realize that it might have taken something in return. Unbidden, he glanced up at Bucky, meeting his eyes before quickly looking away.

There were a lot of things he missed. 

“She was also very insistent that I let you know she’s only holding onto your art supplies until you get home. She said she expects you to come back and collect them.” Bucky smiled as he relayed that particular fact, and Steve could practically hear the bossy tone in Becca’s letter. 

Steve felt the corner of his mouth twist up at that. He knew it was just another way for her of telling him to get home safe, but he appreciated the sentiment all the same. He knew it had to be hard for her, to be missing her brother and Steve both. After all, they’d all grown up together. She was as much his little sister as she was Bucky’s. Quietly, he stared at the drawing a little while longer, reveling in the view of home, before he finally looked back at Bucky. “I didn’t get anything for you.”

“You didn’t?” Bucky elbowed him, a playful smile on his face “And here I was thinking you got yourself shipped overseas just for me.”

Steve’s bark of laughter took him by surprise again. A second laugh in as many days. His heart thumped painfully in his chest, a potent mix of elation and sadness swirling through him. He’d missed this, god, how he’d missed this. Bucky beside him, a smile on his face and light in his eyes. Steve wanted to keep this feeling, trap it in glass and keep it up on a shelf; a perfect, crystalline moment suspended in time.

“Bucky-“ Steve started at the exact same moment that Bucky said, “Steve.”

They both stopped abruptly, waiting for the other to speak, and this time the silence in the room wasn't quite as painful.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said quietly. His eyes were sad, the skin at the corners pinched with regret.

“Bucky,” Steve said again quickly. “You don’t-“

“I do,” Bucky interrupted. “I do. I…”

He faltered, clearly as lost for words as Steve. His eyes darted from Steve to the floor and back again as he inhaled deeply. He seemed like he was steeling himself for something. And then it happened. The thing that Steve had been hoping for and the thing that he’d convinced himself he could never have again. Bucky leaned over and kissed him.

The kiss was clumsy at first. It had been a long time since they’d done this, and it took a moment for them to fall back into comfortable habits. Bucky’s lips were rough and chapped from the wind and there was color high in his cheeks, though Steve didn’t know if it was from embarrassment or excitement. Maybe both. It didn’t matter though. Nothing did but Bucky’s lips on his, the warmth of his breath, the familiar comfort of his body next to Steve’s. Another moment that Steve wanted to freeze and keep forever.

It was over too soon. Bucky pulled away, his face flushed and his breathing quickened. His lips wet and full, the skin around them red from Steve’s stubble. “Steve,” he said. “I still need to-“

“I know.”

And he did know. Too much had happened, too much had broken between them to be brushed under the rug. The war had changed everyone and they were no exception, neither of them immune to its touch. But for right now, for tonight, Steve didn’t want to think about it. Tomorrow would come as it always did, but for tonight they could be with each other and forget. He leaned in and kissed Bucky again, feeling Bucky respond eagerly to his touch.

Tomorrow, they could figure out the future. It was, after all, Christmas.


End file.
